The final note still lingered on the tip of her tongue, Meow's hand trembled, she suddenly looked up, and saw Tyr standing behind her, not knowing how long he'd been watching.
Meow suddenly felt a bit nervous and quickly said, "When… did you get here?"
Tyr's voice was calm, like a water surface without a ripple: "Just arrived."
Meow gripped the watercolor brush tightly, "I… didn't paint well."
Tyr: "Hmm!"
Meow…
Hmm?
So does that mean she indeed painted poorly? Meow felt a bit dejected, she lowered her head, and suddenly didn't want to speak anymore.
Suddenly, a weight descended on her head, and Tyr's hand was on her head, ruffling it twice.
"Do you like painting very much?"
Meow nodded: "Yes, I like it."
When painting, Meow felt her mood was very peaceful, extremely peaceful, no longer anxious about when her memory might recover, nor about the complicated relationship between her and Tyr.
After a moment, Tyr said: "Not too bad either."
Meow raised her head: "Really?"
